Lifeline
by riddleberry
Summary: Struggling to maneuver her way around her new computer, Clara visits what she believes to be an electronics shop in Chiswick, London to seek answers to her many questions regarding the location of the internet. Inside, she comes across an unsuspecting temp who may have just the phone number she's been looking for.


"Angie, how am I supposed to turn this on? Is there a lever? I'm not even sure how to open it." Clara asked, turning her tiny new laptop over in her hands and scanning its surface for instructions or, at the very least, a prominent "PUSH TO ACTIVATE" button.

Obviously, she found neither.

"I sometimes wonder how you dress yourself in the mornings. Give it here." Angie chided as she seized the computer from her guardian's grasp, pried it open, and turned on the power.

"Did they teach all this to you in school? Is this what you guys are doing these days? Learning about computers? Blimey, I thought calculators were hard enough."

Angie's eyes rolled with such intensity that Clara found herself momentarily torn between scolding her for teasing and checking to make sure she hadn't burst a vessel or something. Before she could decide upon a course of action, however, the laptop's screen faded to blackness with a barely audible _click_.

"What was that? Did it break?" She wondered anxiously, chewing on her lower lip as she often did when nerves struck.

"Clara, you just need to charge it. It should have come with a charging cable. Do you have one?"

"All it came with was a manual written completely in Welsh and a bit of bubble wrap with all the bubbles popped. I'm not sure those'll do us much good."

Heaving a sigh, Angie passed Clara the laptop and shrugged before turning back to the sheets of French homework she had been pretending to slave over prior to her nanny's desperate pleas for technology tutoring. She'd gotten rather used to the ongoing war between Clara Oswald and electronic devices. Having walked Clara with agonizingly minuscule baby steps through the art of utilizing a cell phone and the dangers of microwaving aluminum cans, it was no surprise to Angie that the computer was yet another barrier. She'd half expected Clara to ask which part of the device was Facebook.

"Aren't you gonna help me? I need this thing to work!" Clara begged in exasperation while holding the computer with an outstretched arm as if it were likely to grow teeth and gnaw on her face at any moment.

"I've got French work. You should take it to an electronics shop and ask for a tutorial or something."

"Isn't there one of those in Chiswick? I thought I passed by the place on my way to university once. It was all... neon-y."

"Yeah, sure."

Harboring mild annoyance at Angie's apathy, Clara scowled at the dreadful machine in her palm and retreated to the foyer to don her coat. Fortunately, Mr. Maitland was scheduled to be out at a company meeting until the evening, so Clara could borrow his old car. It was painted a sickening green color and loaded with scratches, but it would do the job. She silently nicked the keys from the "for emergencies only" storage drawer in the kitchen and sped out of the house, eager to unravel the mysteries which lay beyond the blackened screen of her laptop.

Maybe she'd even pick up some chips on the way home.

She pulled into the borough of Chiswick about an hour later, attempting to retrace the route she vaguely recalled taking many years before. Very little looked familiar, but she managed to weave her way between several rows of houses and find herself on the exact shopping-friendly street from her memories. She drove as slowly as a snail, squinting to read each building sign and receiving an uncomfortable amount of honks from the cars trailing behind her. Finally, at the very end of the narrow road, she caught sight of her destination.

"_Gadgets Galore_. Sounds about right! It's even got neons!" She affirmed to herself, beaming at the assortment of flashing, colorful lights illuminating the shop window.

Waving apologetically at the traffic backed up several blocks behind her, she swerved into a parking spot and made her way toward the store with her computer tucked under one arm.

"Welcome to _Gadgets Galore_, home of... whatever the bleepin' hell this lot is." An unfamiliar female voice grunted half-heartedly from the back of the store the moment Clara set foot inside.

Wandering past shelves stocked sparsely with the strangest mechanical objects she had ever laid eyes on, Clara followed the less-than-thrilled shopkeeper's voice to a cramped cashier's station in a desolate corner of the shop. Slumped underneath the light of a single, flickering lamp was an older, red-headed woman, probably in her early forties, surrounded by candy wrappers and crouched with her nose buried inside of the book Clara had just finished reading herself, _Summer Falls_. The woman hadn't seemed to notice Clara's approach, so she took the liberty of clearing her throat to try and gain attention.

"Oh, you're still here. Most folks leave the second they see the rubbish Peter has up for sale. Well, go on, look around if you must. You won't find any merchandise back here." The cashier sighed passively without looking up from her book.

"I'm not here to buy anything. I was actually wondering if you could help me."

The woman groaned and shoved _Summer Falls_ to the side of the table before turning to glare at her persistent customer. She'd been working the morning shift for nearly a month and had never been forced to face a single patron, and she rather enjoyed it that way. Her coworker said all the lunatics looking to purchase things from that putrid store showed up under the cover of nightfall as to avoid being seen by anyone worth knowing.

Everyone in Chiswick knew about Peter Angelo's shop. It was where lonely drug peddlers and whackjobs went to buy Peter's _ever so creative _inventions, like the shoelace flat iron in aisle two or the singing condoms propped in the window. It really didn't seem like the place for young girls such as the one who had just slammed a laptop on the counter with a highly inquisitive expression plastered on her face.

"Oi! There's no need to beat me with your computer! This ain't a place people go to get help, but I'll do what I can. Whaddya need?"

"I'm not so good with computers. I think I've worked out how to turn it on, but I can't find the internet. Isn't there supposed to be an internet somewhere on it? Is it hidden? Also, I'm not sure where to go looking for a charging cable. Apparently, it's got to be plugged in to work. Can you help me at all?" Clara begged, gesturing wildly at the menacing device as if it were a misbehaving child.

"Sorry mate, I wouldn't touch one of those things with a ten foot pole. Work as a secretary for a year, and you'll never be wantin' to look at a keyboard again."

"Oh, it's alright. Thanks anyway. I'll try another place."

Dejected, Clara snatched her laptop from the table and began to stride away, but, before she had reached the main shop floor, the woman at the counter emitted a shrill "Wait!"

"Hang on! I think I remember somethin'!" She shrieked, rummaging through the mess on the counter for a pen and a sliver of paper.

Clara watched eagerly as she scribbled a series of digits in bright blue ink on a chocolate wrapper and held it out for Clara to take. The woman's eyes glistened with something Clara couldn't quite place her finger on. Was it sadness? Excitement? Nostalgia? A combination of the three?

"Call this number! This helpline got me through a whole year of my life! I can't remember what it was I was needin' help with. The whole thing is a blur, but I think it was a stereo or a microwave or somethin'! It's the best help you could ask for in the whole universe!" The woman gushed rapidly, sounding like an entirely different person from the bitter shopkeep who had been leering at Clara for existing only moments before.

"Thank you very much! This should help loads! I'll call right away!"

Clara reached out to shake the woman's hand, but her gesture wasn't returned. Instead, the woman's eyes widened sharply, and she began to look a bit dazed like she had been punched in the stomach.

"Are you alright?"

The woman simply nodded, unblinking as she slowly sat back on her stool and rested her palm on the curve of her skull.

"Headache." She whispered absently before raising a trembling hand and motioning toward the front door of the shop.

"Go and call that number."

Convinced the cashier had gone mad but grateful for the assistance nonetheless, Clara lowered her gaze and briskly exited the store, clutching the candy wrapper tightly in her palm. The woman stared hypnotically as her first customer departed. Waves of nausea washed over her with each passing thought about the strange phone number she had just suddenly... _remembered. _

"He was just a bloke, Donna. He helped you with your microwave... Yeah, your microwave. It wasn't cookin' things right. He helped you figure it out." She muttered carefully to herself, massaging her temples.

Unable to restrain her curiosity, she lifted the company's telephone from its receiver, drew it to her ear, and moved to dial the phone number she had given to the girl. Her fingers twitched uncontrollably over the buttons as she strained to remember the numerical sequence. Every nerve in her body pulsed red hot against her skin. Suddenly, a wire in her brain snapped, and she felt herself hurdling toward an infinitely expansive vat of blackness.

She woke up several hours later with her face pressed flat against the cover of _Summer Falls_ and absolutely no recollection of the events of that morning.

"I must have dozed off again. Hope I didn't miss anyone."


End file.
